Aturdido
by feathered moon wings
Summary: Aturdir — When something overwhelms, bewilders, or stuns you to the point that you're unable to focus and think straight. "It's an awful feeling, he can't think, what's his name? His name is Jericho. No, his name is Joseph, Joseph! He's a Titan. He likes to play guitar and dance and sing… wait, he can't sing. Why is it so hard to concentrate on things that are so easy?"


**Aturdir** — _When something overwhelms, bewilders, or stuns you to the point that you're unable to focus and think straight._

* * *

 **ATURDIDO**

It is astonishing how… out of sync he is with his surroundings, with his own body.

 _He said I would never be worthy of his love. Never worthy. What does that even mean?! What would he know of worth?_

It's an awful feeling. He can see where he's at, but he can't process it, he can't think. It's like there's an image in front of him but he can't describe it, can't concentrate in what sort of landscape it is, cannot tell the color of it's objects, what he sees. But he _sees_.

 _I'll burn them all. I don`t care if they put me in jail. I wanna see 'em try and catch me!_

But he can't think, he wants to bring forth to the front of his mind his name, the names of his family, what he likes to do, what book he read last, but it's so-damned-hard.

 _I took that bitch to the ground and split her pussy. She was lovin' it, it wasn't rape. Women, those whores are always whining-_

His name is Jericho. _No_ , his name is Joseph, Joseph! He's a Titan. He likes to play guitar and dance and sing… wait, he can't sing. Why is it so hard to concentrate on things that are so easy? Things he should know like he knows the sky is blue. Like he should know he'll never be able to sing again.

 _I… I'm not a bad person. It was all circumstantial, I swear, I never meant to hurt anybody. Please, I'm begging you, believe me. I'm not a bad person._

Now he can't even seem to see where he is; it's all just a bunch of shapeless blurs and dizzying colors transformed from the landscape. Why is this happening to him? It's never been this bad. God, his skin itches and he feels trapped inside his own flesh. Every sensation is a blow to his senses and yet he can't tell what they are meant to be –touch, smell, vision- , just that they overload his mind.

 _You like to look around other people's heads child? Don't forget I can also look into yours. You'll never get the taste of me out of your mind. You'll always belong to me, just like that failure of a daughter of mine. You'll never be rid of me child._

God, he wants to cry so bad. Is he crying? He can't tell if he's crying. It feels as if he should be crying. He's definitely sure he can't breathe. He's going to die because he can't remember how to breathe!

"Joe..."

He holds his head and closes his eyes, at least that way the dizzying feeling that is trying to figure out what's in front of him won't overwhelm him. He pulls at his hair, another sensation to the load, but the pain distracts him from the voices that scream inside his mind; screams that no one but _him_ can hear.

 _Get out of my head you fucking freak! What are you doing to me?!_

"Joey…"

He hears himself let out a helpless sob; there are new sensations all over him, dancing over his skin. It feels awful and wrong, his entire body feels wrong. Someone might be touching him, he doesn't want it but he can't say it –he has no voice-, he can't sign it –his hands are busy holding his throbbing head.

It would be one thing if it were only his restless mind, full of sounds, images, and ideas –ideas that aren't his, none of these things belong to him. Maybe then he'd be able to handle the situation better. But it's all over his senses.

"-ll –ght…"

Someone's talking to him, he can't make out the words. Whoever's talking to him is also touching him, how can he tell this person to _stop_? He let's out a pitiful whimper. It seems they understood the message because the next thing he knew at least one of the sensations has stopped crowding him. The others though…

 _They where red and black and gold._

 _My, how delicious you look pretty boy. I might just take you here and now._

He used to have a friend, he had taught him a word for this sensation, this feeling of not being able to think straight or focus on anything. He can't remember the word; he can't think of a single helpful thing.

 _You don't know what you're doing, who you are messing with!_

 _My family, they are waiting for me, I don't want to be late. Oh, how I hate this job. I wish I'd been a doctor, like I'd always wanted._

 _Have you seen it? How beautiful the blood is when you just tear a tiny bit of flesh? How it slides down in a stark path against the skin? Almost like a work of art._

He is certain now that he is crying, his face feels all wet and gross. He's also sure he's lying down on the hard ground… no he's not. He is lying down but on something soft. He doesn't know…

Someone is talking to him; he doesn't understand a word, like it isn't English at all.

After some time he let's himself go, gives his mind and awareness to the voices and the void of all things that make a mess of his mind, everything he can't name or tell apart. He let's go and his body goes limp.

"It's going to be alright Joey…"

It's the voice again.

* * *

Someone is talking, he doesn't understand what they're saying.

He stirs.

"Joey?" He hears the voice again, clearly now. "Are you with me?" The rest of the voices have returned to their rightful place, to the back of his mind where they can't impede him from interacting with the real word. They are quietly mumbling where he can handle them.

"Joe…" There is too much sorrow in that voice; it's Dick's voice, he can tell that now. He realizes Dick had been talking to him in Romani, his mother language.

The blond nods his head, as he remembers to answer the question, he's still lying down. He realizes now that the soft surface had been his friend's lap all this time.

The man above him let's out a heavy sigh, he can almost feel his friends' relief wash over him. Joey twist's his head a little to look at him. Dick's eyes are full of worry.

"I didn't know what to do, I didn't know how to help you." The Gothamie explains, still worried. "I thought it might be a villain perhaps or an evil force, _something I could fight_. I called Raven and when she came she told me there was nothing I could do, that you were just having some kind of sensory overload and we had to wait it out."

Joey began to sit up, slowly for his body still felt weird. He looked at Dick and instantly regretted the anguish he'd caused his friend.

"It's okay." Joey signs to him and places his hand over Dick's own, to reassure him. Joey knows how a Grayson guilt-trip could start all too well.

"What happened?" Dick asks abjectly, helpless.

Joey sighed.

"Sometimes I just… my mind get's too loud and I can't concentrate." He tried to explain.

"You were crying." Dick sort of accuses and Joey has to smile.

"I was. I felt helpless, impotent." Joey tells him silently. Dick nods his understanding; still he seems unsatisfied about his friend's answer.

"Does this happen often Joey?" He asks, leaning back on the wall he had dragged them too when Jericho's 'episode' had hit.

They had been walking in a park; the people here ignored them, they had walked their ways and let them be.

"Sometimes. It's never been this bad, honestly." Joey looks at him as Dick brushes his messy black hair back with his fingers.

"Do you know why?" Dick asks, a frown appearing on his face.

"You could say it's a side effect of my abilities." Joey shrugs. Dick raises his eyebrow in confusion.

"People I get control over…" Joey hesitates, not knowing if it's the right decision, to tell his friend about his ever-present torment, but decides to do so anyway "they leave a kind of eco in me? Traces of themselves." Joey shyed looks away from Dick "It gets loud in my head. Some days everything is just… too much."

"Joey, can I…" Joey looks up at Dick, who stares at him earnestly. "Can I hold you?" He asks.

Joey smiles sweetly at Dick, 'he want's to comfort me (probably himself too)' the blond muses, 'he doesn't know how, my aversion to touch must've given him pause.'

Joey's body still tingles with uneasiness, but his mind is calmer, quiet.

He slides closer to him, an obvious invitation for Grayson to do as he pleases. Dick paces his arm around Joey's shoulders and the blond leans his head against the other's shoulder.

Dick's hand is warm over him but the vigilante doesn't rub his shoulder for comfort. It's the right thing to do though, too much stimulation and Joey might as well begin with the whole thing again –minus the voices maybe.

Joey places his hand over Dicks and trys to tell him without words 'You're a good friend'.

Dick get's it, he leans his head over Joey's, who can feel him smile.

* * *

 **Abril: I know Robin might seem VERY oc, but I have a pretty good explanation for this. I was, kind of not thinking of his portrayal on the show but of the actual comics? I just realized it to late. This whole thing is actually very comic inclined, but I wanted to publish it here, don't get mad at me plis.**

 **¿Should I change it to the comic section?**

 **Anyway, hope you liked it. I really liked the beginning but kind of lost it at the end. I dunno, it's weird.**

 **This was born form another of Shadow-ying's and mine's challenges. It was to pic an untranslatable word from Spanish and use it for a story.**

 **Mine was 'Aturdir' and the title of the story is 'Aturdido' which is the actual act of being in that state, contrary to the word that was given to me, that is used for inflicting the state. Let me give you an example.**

" **I was going to** _ **aturdir**_ **him with music."**

" **I was** _ **aturdido**_ **by the loud explosion."**

 **Ugh, it doesn't matter; I hope you've enjoyed this!**


End file.
